Nash went on, either not noticing Griff was processing the new information about date planning or pretending not to. “You’re going to Paint and Sip in Waterbury.”
Okay, he could do that. It wasn’t like people talked a lot during those things. He could just sit there, paint some stupid sunset, and be done with date number two. Perfect. If he couldn’t figure out soon how to fall out of love with her, the sooner he got through the six dates, the better.
“Fine.” Griff picked up the Statue of Liberty, made sure it was balanced properly, and moved it over to its new home near the door.
There. Now there would be plenty of room to display his latest additions once they were built. All was right in the world. Well, at least in his Lego room. Except for Nash being in there and acting all squirrely. He’d figure out what was going on. He always did. In the meantime, he swiped his phone off the building table, flicked off the light switch, and walked out of the room.
Nash caught up to him in the kitchen, accepting the open beer Griff handed him.
“So are you going to call her and let her know?” Nash asked after he’d taken a sip and shot a meaningful look at Griff’s phone on the counter. “You may not realize it, but most humans like a little notice—especially when they’re doing someone a favor.”
Griff didn’t make a move for his phone. “I’ll text her later.”
“Do it now.” He picked up Griff’s phone and tossed it at him.
He caught it while grabbing a bag of chips from the pantry. “Why?”
“Because I think you’re doing your best to pretend that you don’t like her and, like the fool you are, have chosen the ostrich route.”
He laid the phone down on the kitchen table and did the pinch, pinch, pull to open the bag. “Fuck off.”
“So Mom was right; it’s more than like.” Nash reached in and grabbed a handful of barbecue-flavored chips. “You really do love her.”
“Aunt Celeste needs to dial back on the woo-woo,” he grumbled between handfuls of chips he shoved in his mouth while trying to figure out how she knew.
Nash snorted. “That’s never gonna happen—especially not when she finds out her interpretation of the cards was right.”
Fuck. There was no way this would end well. Aunt Celeste was scattered, but once she’d grabbed on to an idea, she didn’t let it go. If he didn’t nip this in the bud, she’d figure out a way to involve herself in this dating-bet disaster all the way up to her eyebrows. There was only one way out of this. He had to ask Nash for a favor.
“What will it take to get you to not say anything to your mom so she backs off?”
Nash’s smug smile and cocky attitude were back in full force. “Text Kinsey about the date now and type exactly what I say.”
“You are a bossy motherfucker.” He grabbed his phone and opened up his texts. “One of these days, someone is going to fuck your shit up.”
Now it was his cousin’s turn to shrug as if he had no fucks left to give. “Stop trying to change the subject, Griff, and start typing.”
He did. And then—fuck his life—he tapped out exactly what Nash said, cringing every letter of the way.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kinsey
Kinsey stared at her phone.
Griff had been taken over by aliens. He had to have been. This was a lot of words.
GRIFF: Had a great time with you the other night. I really appreciate you helping me out with these dates. I owe you huge. Our next date is across the harbor at the Paint and Sip place. I know it’s weird, but I’m hoping you’re still game. Promise I’ll make it up to you.
So.
Many.
Words.
KINSEY: So many words. Are you okay? Have you been kidnapped and is this a call for help?
GRIFF: Nash.
Kinsey relaxed back in the chair. That explained it. His cousin had either stolen Griff’s phone or held him at gunpoint. But in just one word, she knew her man was back. Wait. No. Not her man. Her man was her fake fiancé, Todd. Griff was Morgan’s older brother. That was all. Nothing more. Definitely not the guy she kept thinking about at odd hours.
GRIFF: So this paint thing?
KINSEY: Sounds great!
She hit Send and immediately regretted the exclamation point. Too young. Too enthusiastic. Too much, as if she was about to lie and say oh-my-God-I-dreamed-about-you-last-night-and-it-was-ah-mazing. That was not the look she was going for. Not even close.
The last thing she needed was to get distracted from work. That’s why she’d moved to Harbor City: job of her dreams. Boss of her nightmares, yes, but the job was exactly what she’d been dreaming about since she’d mixed up her first face mask from a kit Meemaw had found at Michaels. She wasn’t going to lose this opportunity because everyone thought she was too young and too country for it. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to mess it up because she lost sight of her goal because she couldn’t stop looking at Griff, who was a huge, muscular, tattooed genius of a distraction.
GRIFF: Pick you up at seven?
KINSEY: Perfect!
Fuck her life. There it was again. The subconscious why-don’t-you-use-your-extra-key-to-let-yourself-in-and-ravish-me exclamation point.
She needed help. She needed to kill off Todd. She needed to have a million orgasms, the kind that left a person breathless, mindless, and jelly-kneed. A million of those might burn her battery stash or give her carpal tunnel, but a few would do a body good.
Sadly, stress masturbation had its place, but that wasn’t what she was in the mood for. First she needed a long bath, the kind with bubbles, water hot enough to turn her skin pink, and tons of steam that would make all her worries evaporate.
Taking advantage of the alone time because Morgan was at barre class and would be bringing home dinner for the both of them after, Kinsey crossed over to her bedroom door and closed it. She peeled off her top and let it drop to the floor as she walked to the en suite bathroom, then reached behind her and unsnapped the costs-a-fortune-but-still-hurts bra. She slid the straps off and let it drop, leaving only wide indentions on the tops of her shoulders as the kind of tit-deep relief that only came with setting the girls free washed over her.
Letting out a happy sigh, she turned on the faucet and poured in enough vanilla-scented bubbles to span the tub and then some. While it filled, she stripped off her pants and panties and then grabbed her phone. A quick scroll through her playlists and she found the perfect one, dimmed the lights, and lit a few candles.
Okay, was all of this a bit much? Yes. Was she still here for it? Fuck yes.
Self-care kept her sane, relatively stress-free, and the tub was her favorite place to let her brain unravel all the bullshit she’d encountered—like that asshole in line at Starbucks who’d told her she was being basic by ordering a black coffee. All she’d wanted was straight caffeine and the fact that she had to listen to that doofus before getting it had her reciting the periodic table in her head to keep from popping off on him.